


Nobody Darns Their Socks Anymore

by dottieapple



Series: Dottie's Happy Steve Bingo entries 2018 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Baby Goat Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo, Brooklyn Idiots Have a Hard Time Talking About Feelings, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Daddy kink mention, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Implied kink, Knitting, M/M, Soft White Wolf, Steve and Bucky Skyping, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottieapple/pseuds/dottieapple
Summary: A slice of the softer life in Wakanda for Bucky Barnes, who misses his best guy when he's out Nomad-ing about. A Happy Steve Bingo 2018 entry, featuring knitting, with a sexy happy ending for our Brooklyn boys.Rated M for language, euphemisms, hints at sexual situations pre-war, some playful "Daddy kink" language without explicit smut.





	Nobody Darns Their Socks Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Remember earlier this year, when the Russo Brothers told us that what we saw in IW was not the first time they'd seen each other? And that there were probably Skype calls happening? Between these thoughts, the prompt "knitting" on my Happy Steve Bingo card, and videos of baby goats, this story happened. 
> 
> I hope reading it makes you smile just as much as writing it made me smile.

Another sunrise over Wakanda, birds chirped incessantly, and goats were beginning to stir out in the yard. Bucky groaned and rolled over on his bed mat, pulling the blanket over his eyes. Deep in the recesses of his memories, he knew he had never been an early riser, but Wakandan life was forcing it out of him. The high-pitched bleating outside the door was growing louder. 

“Hang on, Stevie, I’m comin’,” Bucky mumbled into his pillow. “Stubborn kid.” There was a reason he bestowed that name upon his favorite tiny goat. He wriggled around on his mat and pushed himself up, graceful as one could be with only one arm.

The bleating outside the front of the hut was insistent. Bucky smirked and rolled his eyes, a gesture ingrained since his boyhood ages ago. He pushed the button that opened the front door forcefield which allowed fresh air in and kept misbehaving livestock and children out. Stevie greeted Bucky with a hop and a gentle headbutt to the shin. “Hey little fella,” Bucky cooed, reaching down to pet the goat. “You gotta chill out this early, huh? I don’t love being up with the sun as much as you and your ma and your sisters.” He sighed with relief, knowing the coffee maker in the hut’s kitchenette was programmed to come to life automatically as soon as he’d disarmed the forcefield. 

“BEHH!!” declared Stevie.

“Oh no, pal, the _ last _ thing you need is coffee. It’s for humans and half-humans only.” Bucky snuck a glance at his covered shoulder and stump. Another day without the arm, another day of his new life. He hoisted a bag of goat feed onto his shoulder and carried it to the feeding trough. He pulled a pocket knife from its hiding spot within the side-fold of his Wakandan garments, flipped it around for show (even though the show was only for himself and the hungry goats), cut the bag open and poured it into the trough.

Once Stevie was distracted with breakfast, Bucky stretched in the early morning sunshine, then shuffled back to the hut. The scent of fresh Wakandan coffee comforted Bucky. His tablet began to ring, a holographic display popping up: 

**INCOMING VIDEO CALL: SECURED LINE**

_ROGERS, STEVE_  
**ANSWER?**

“Yes!” Bucky exclaimed, nearly spilling the coffee he was pouring into his single ‘I Love NY’ mug. Usually a single affirmative answer worked with the voice recognition software, but this was a surprise, and he couldn’t control his joy. It had been days since Steve called. “Yes. YES!”

“Am I interrupting something, Buck?” Holo-Steve grinned in the air above the tablet. 

“Nah, just coffee,” Bucky answered, raising his mug in the air with a slightly shaking hand before taking a sip and acting calmer than he was. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere,” said Steve, looking around. “A safe place.” 

“For now,” Bucky muttered in response.

“Don’t start that again, not now. We’re both okay.” Steve’s voice had that tone, the one Bucky didn’t like much, the sound of swallowed hurt and concern.

Bucky drained his coffee mug in a couple of gulps then crossed the room to pick up the tablet. He switched display modes so he and Steve could see each other while they talked, then plopped down into his reading chair. “That’s a little better. I missed seeing your beak in full HD.” 

“Such sweet nothings,” Steve chuckled back, wrinkling up his nose. “And in glorious Technicolor.” He was focused on something just below the camera’s field of vision, something in his hands. He wore that look of concentration that he reserved for artistic projects and small, detail-oriented tasks. 

“What are you up to, punk? Sewing? Your Army back-pay so low that you’ve gotta darn your socks? You were always better at it than me anyway.” A grainy image played in Bucky’s mind of a reedy, flaxen-haired teenage boy darning a pile of socks under his ma’s tutelage.  _ Steve. Sarah. Why you fixin’ that sock, Stevie? That pair makes your feet itch. _

“That’s the thing, pal, I don’t think anybody darns socks anymore. Haven’t seen a darning ball anywhere.” Steve still stared down at his hands, though his cheeks flushed rosy. “Do you remember the time you--” Steve brought one of his massive hands up to scratch the back of his neck. “Heh, no, I probably shouldn’t mention that on a call.” 

Butterflies fluttered to life in Bucky’s chest. The fizzy feeling he liked to chase spread under his skin. He leaned in closer to his tablet, whispering as if he would scandalize the livestock outside his front door, “I remember, punk. You started it. Teasing me about the shape of it. God, you were mean that day.”

Steve smiled, still pink, his expression mischievous and fond. “If you didn’t like it, you could’ve said something, Barnes. Consent was still consent in 1939.” His hands stopped moving, and he positively beamed. “All done!” 

“With what?”

Steve finally looked up at Bucky, or at least at the camera, and raised his hands to show a red and gray striped scarf. “Been learning to knit from YouTube videos! This is my second-ever finished project.”

“Looks pretty nice. Better than I could do, for sure,” Bucky gave a self-deprecating smirk, tilting his head to acknowledge his left side. It did look nice. A soft, chunky knit that seemed to encourage cuddling. He wasn’t sure that Wakandan winters were anything like any other winter he could remember. Definitely nothing like Siberia. 

“I didn’t think I’d like knitting,” Steve explained, “but Sam told me that crafts can be very calming, and I used to fix most of our clothes so I figured I might be okay at this.”

Bucky giggled, imagining now-Steve in a rocking chair with wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. “So the memes are true then.” 

“Huh?”

“The...the internet. Memes. About Captain America.” He and Shuri had printed several out which hung in her office. There was also one stuck to Bucky’s small refrigerator with Steve, mid-throw of the shield, with a caption of  _ YEEEET! _

“Memes, like, with cats?” 

“Memes about how you’re the world’s youngest old man. When you’re not fighting evil, you’re knitting sweaters and watching Jeopardy.”

“What’s wrong with Jeopardy? I find it very informative.” 

“I don’t know, Stevie, but that’s apparently what old people do.” Bucky scoffed, “Don’t worry. I watch it too when I can. Helps me learn stuff.” 

“You’re old too, pal.” Steve laughed. “But you don’t look a day over four hundred, you should be fine.” 

There was a rustling at the front door, and then the sound of small hooves clomping on the floor of the hut. Bucky stood and turned so the camera showed the rest of the room along with his face. “I wasn’t expecting company. Guess I forgot to arm the forcefield. Stevie, meet Stevie. You’d get along great. You’re both little, stubborn, and like to butt heads with anyone who’s available.” Stevie was distracted by a curtain, which he attempted to munch on until Bucky snapped his fingers in his direction multiple times.

“Haven’t been so little for a long time now,” Steve sighed, something bittersweet.

“BEHH!” declared Stevie, running up to Bucky. He patted the fuzzy little guy on the back. 

“I guess I’m just an old farmer now,” he told Steve. “And if you’re doing all the knitting and sewing, that makes you farmer’s wife.” 

“I’m not your wife, Barnes,” Steve protested, smiling. His face relaxed in the way Bucky recognized as the prelude to physical contact. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Bucky bit his bottom lip and suddenly felt very lonely. “When are you coming back?” he asked, after a prolonged silence. He stroked his thumb along the edge of the tablet.

“Don’t know yet,” Steve answered. “Mission isn’t over. It’s been more recon than action. Not a lot of--”

The front flap of the hut rustled again, this time a young villager hustling in. “There you are!” She threw her hands up in relief, looking down at Stevie. “My apologies, White Wolf. This little one is due for his first trim, and he ran off.” The girl glanced at Bucky’s tablet, saw Steve’s bemused face, and turned her head away, shy. She gently extended her hand toward Stevie, who was hiding behind Bucky’s legs. “Come now, little baby.” 

“BEHH!” protested Stevie.

“Hang on, Steve,” Bucky said, setting the tablet on the small bookshelf. He bent down, whispered some calming words to the tiny goat, and scooped him up around the middle, carrying him to the girl. “Be good for your haircut, Stevie.” He rubbed between Stevie’s wiggly little ears. “Come back so I can see how handsome you look.” Bucky handed him off, and the village girl smiled, breathed out a thanks, and went on her way.

“Boy oh boy, he sure is a cutie,” Steve grinned. “He can keep the name. Anyway, I was saying, I don’t have the latest intel. I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise.” He cocked his head, concerned. “What’s that face for, Bucky?”

“Heh, y’know. I--”  _ miss you. Need you here. It’s lonely.  _ “I’m worried the little fella is gonna get cold, after they shave him down.”

Steve and Bucky stayed on the call for another hour. When Steve said goodbye, he added that he didn’t know when he’d be able to call again. He said  _ I’ll see you soon, Buck _ with all the weight that Bucky assigned to the  _ I love you _ he said in his own mind.

-o-

A week later, Bucky was working in the yard, shooing the now short-haired Stevie and a few chickens away from the vegetables he was attempting to plant in the small garden he’d started: zucchini, carrots, tomato. He heard the electronic chime of the hut’s doorbell, then a soft whirring overhead. A delivery drone whizzed cheerfully back toward the city. Bucky wondered what had been dropped off.

After washing up at the outside water pump, Bucky went back to the hut to pick up the package from the front doorstep. It was a large, thickly padded envelope with no return address, but in Steve’s unmistakable printing it was addressed:

**_Bucky Buckworthington Barnes & Stevie_ **

**_℅ King T’Challa_ **

**_WAKANDA_ **

Bucky laughed aloud to himself. Only Steven Grant Rogers would insist on putting some kind of formalized address on mail he was sending in secret, via top secret courier, to an undisclosed address in a still mostly-secret country. And to top all that off, Steve used the name “Buckworthington” which was the name Bucky once insisted, from the time both boys were eleven or so, that he would use when he grew up and got stinkin’ rich. 

As thrilled as he was to get something from Steve, Bucky deflated a little because it probably meant he’d be alone for even longer. His bones ached for Steve’s warmth, and sometimes his insides twisted in anxiety, not knowing when or if his best guy would make it back. He huffed out a breath. No use in fretting right now, because here was a gift dropped on his doorstep.

Bucky pulled out his trusty pocket knife and carefully cut open the top of the package. He peered down inside, and his eyes met a lump of softness. The first thing he pulled out was a scarf, long and navy blue with hints of of complementary brown. Bucky pressed it to his face, testing its softness. It smelled of plastic-lined envelope and a hint of something that reminded him of Steve’s favorite soap. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining that part but accepted it as truth. Underneath that was a smaller knit object, a very small sweater in a red, cream white, and blue marled pattern. A note was safety-pinned to its itty-bitty sleeve:

**_For Stevie, so he doesn’t get cold. It was always a problem for me. Ask him to snuggle!_ **

Bucky turned the little sweater over in his hands a few times, unable to wipe the goofy grin of delight off his face. He hoped Steve was being a little facetious, because he didn’t really want baby goats in his house full-time. Too much clean-up, and he was bad enough at knocking things over on his own. No need to scare Stevie in the middle of the night when sleep gave Bucky horrible flashbacks that thrashed him awake. He pressed the scarf to his cheek again, closing his eyes. “I miss you so much,” he whispered. “Please come home.” 

Bucky shook the envelope and a folded-up piece of paper fell to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, unfolding it with care. There was a cartoony sketch of Bucky from the shoulders up, wearing a striped scarf, his eyes pointed up to a tiny goat perched on his head. It was captioned  _ Daddy Buckworthington and Little Orphan Stevie _ . Bucky laughed, embarrassingly loud, and his shoulders shook. Tension bled out of his body with each gasping, happy breath. 

Then, a small shudder snuck up Bucky’s spine as his thoughts meandered to other reasons Steve had for calling him  _ Daddy _ , and they weren’t all joke reasons related to one of their favorite childhood radio programs. Bucky cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, despite the fact that he hadn’t said any of the scandalous things he was thinking out loud.

He found text in the note as well:

**_~~My dear~~ Bucky,_ **

**_I ~~lov~~ miss you so much. This mission has been hell because it’s kept me away from you for so long, but today I was able to stop in Brussels to send this to you. I hope you like the colors in your scarf. If intel is good, I should be seeing you very soon. Sooner than you think. Fluff that extra pillow for me and keep yourself warm. I can’t wait._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_SGR_ **

_ Soon. Sooner than you think. Every minute is sooner than I think,  _ pondered Bucky. Was that hours? Days? A week? He didn’t know. Bucky slid his pocket knife back into the cargo pants he wore to work outside, carefully folded Stevie’s sweater, pushed it down into the breast pocket of his shirt, and hastened outside to finish the chores. He’d need to be quick if he also hoped to have the hut clean before sundown. Just in case. 

-o-

Two days later, Bucky laid awake on his bed mat, staring at the ceiling. He listened to the rooster crowing somewhere outside, thankfully not right below his window this time. He’d barely slept as it was, and when he drifted, he’d jerk himself awake again. At least the hazy dreams that hit him as he snoozed didn’t terrify him for once. In one of them, Alexander Pierce, who then morphed into Tony Stark wearing one of Pierce’s summer linen suits, informed Winter-Soldier-Asset-Bucky of the vital new mission at hand: _ kiss Captain America. Kiss him real hard.  _ Bucky couldn’t scribble it into his dream journal fast enough. Wait until Steve heard this one.

Through the front doorway, with the curtain pushed back, Bucky could see the sky beginning to glow as the sun neared the horizon, a few stars still glimmering. He sighed and threw his arm over his face. No sleep meant a rough morning of goat-chasing to come, probably two pots of coffee, followed by zero energy to take his afternoon walk to the lake; however, if this was what a new rough day looked like, Bucky had no reason to complain. 

He nuzzled his stubbled cheek against the scarf Steve made: a comfort, gentled into existence with care, the closest he could get to Steve’s hands soothing him to rest. It had been folded carefully atop Bucky’s pillow since the evening it arrived. It was still too warm for his liking to wear scarves. He inhaled the scent of the yarn, shifted, and dozed off.

He startled from a light sleep not long after, this time alerted by the beeping chime indicating the front door forcefield was being disarmed from the outside. Bucky’s entire body sprang to life. _Only one possible exit because the windows are too small for these shoulders. Cast iron pan over stove can be possibly deployed as a weapon. No time to put on shoes. Of course someone is coming for me at night--I’m too comfortable here._   
  
As he reflexively reached under the pillow for his favorite knife, tactical defense thoughts racing, his softer mind was drawing a connection. _Wait. No evidence of tampering, no doorbell, the sound of cautious, patient footfalls just inside the doorway._ The forcefield chirped its re-arming. Bucky withdrew his hand from the knife handle, every defense dropping away as he gleefully recognized the large outline and steady breath of his intruder. 

“Bucky?” Steve whispered into the dimness of the hut, his head swiveling.

“Get your dumb ass over here,” Bucky responded, scooting over to make room in the bed. That pleasantly fizzy feeling creeped its way up his neck. “Gonna give a hundred-old-man his first heart attack?”

Steve came closer, but hesitated to lower himself to the ground. He removed his boots, but continued to stand, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Hey, sorry to wake you. I mean, I wanted to surprise you, but--”

Bucky interrupts, “I slept like shit, and it’d be a hell of a lot nicer to snooze for another hour with you next to me, instead of standing there trying to make excuses for what we both wanted.” He heard the sound of buckles being undone, zippers opening. Next thing he knew, the blanket lifted away and Steve’s weight dipped the low bed by a fraction. They both scrooched around, unnecessarily jockeying for position of who was going to be big spoon. Bucky let Steve win, sinking back against his strong warmth.

Steve’s arms tightened around his torso, one hand absently stroking Bucky’s bare chest. He inclined his head, planting a soft kiss on Bucky’s shoulder. “I missed you,” he said, barely audible. 

“Mmph,” Bucky replied, drifting off peacefully, the scent of Steve’s skin and sweat an unsung lullaby. 

-o-

“Daylight’s wasting, Buck! Up, up, up!” There was a  _ whoosh _ as Steve yanked the blankets away. 

“Steve, why?” Bucky whined, grateful for the smell of coffee that permeated the room. 

Steve, unfortunately, was pulling a t-shirt on, though it still left little to the imagination over his dense musculature. “Your little friend outside sounds like he wants attention, and I don’t know what you do with them yet.”

“BEHH!” rang out from the front door. 

Bucky rubbed his eyes and moved quickly to find his work clothes. The faster the chores got done, the more time he could have alone with Steve. 

“BEHH!!”

“I’m comin’, Stevie. Keep your sweater on.” Bucky shuffled his feet into some sandals.

“Sweater?” Steve asked with a leading tone, raising an eyebrow.  _ As if he didn’t know _ . He gulped coffee from the ‘I Love NY’ mug, refilled it, and handed it Bucky.

“Yeah, some guy,” Bucky gestured with the mug in his hand, as though he wasn’t looking in Steve’s direction, “knit a little sweater and sent it here for Little Orphan Stevie. Like a charity case. The thing is, pal, Stevie isn’t an orphan. He actually lives with his ma.” He stepped next to Steve, knocking their shoulders together. “Little Stevie just likes to run with the wolves.” He smiled, and when Steve looked at him pointedly, he felt a little thrill that he masked by chugging down the rest of the coffee and nodding toward the door.

Steve held up his wrist and pushed a button on his smartwatch. The unlock chime sounded and in bounded Stevie, dressed in his Captain America-approved sweater. “BEHHHH!” he greeted Steve with a headbutt straight to the shin, then hopped up onto the ottoman, knocking a pile of books onto the floor. 

“Dammit, Stevie!” Bucky shooed him down, then turned to Steve as the little goat trotted back toward Steve, tail wiggling like crazy. “Kid gets himself in trouble. I gotta help him out. You know how it goes.”

Steve grinned, something that looked fond and smug at the same time. “I do know, Buck. Probably better than anybody.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. He looked overdue for a haircut, but it was a look complementary to his new beard. 

“BEHH!” declared Stevie, looking up expectantly. Steve picked him up, holding him close to his chest. Stevie stretched his neck and licked Steve’s face.

“Aww, you’re a sweet little fella,” said Steve, smoothing his beard where it had just been groomed by the goat. “And so handsome in your sweater.” Steve turned heel and wandered out of the hut, quietly baby-talking to Stevie, who was bleating in appreciation. Bucky followed them outside.

Later, after the morning’s chores had been finished, Bucky and Steve returned to the hut. Steve pulled the curtain over the door and armed the forcefield, changing its settings to ‘do not disturb’. Bucky accepted this as an invitation and sidled up into Steve’s personal space. “Hey there, soldier,” he teased, running his hand down Steve’s chest. His fingers came to rest on Steve’s waistband. A flush rode high on Steve’s gorgeous cheekbones, spreading its way down under his beard. 

Steve’s hands framed Bucky’s face, and Bucky leaned into the touch. Steve hushed him, even though he hadn’t said anything. “Shh, sweetheart. I know. I was gone too long.” He leaned forward, capturing Bucky’s lips softly with his own. “But I’ll always come back to you, Buck. Always.”

Bucky squirmed under Steve’s tender ministrations. Under normal circumstances, he’d call Steve a sap, maybe give him a playful shove, but this was different. Soft, warm, nothing short of a miracle to be alive, with his best guy, in love in the 21st century.

It felt incredible, but Bucky couldn’t shake the need to push Steve down onto his knees, to shove him over to the bed to take him apart, make them both feel good, lose themselves in each other. Bucky returned Steve's kiss, biting gently at his bottom lip and moaning. He pulled away and nibbled Steve’s ear. “Stevie,” he sighed, low and desperate. "My Stevie." He raised his hand and gently petted Steve's beard, then moved his hand into Steve's hair, where he made a fist and yanked.

Steve audibly gulped and, pressing his hips forward, indicated his arousal. “Oh,” he breathed and then licked his lips. “Please? Daddy?”

A dark laugh bubbled up from Bucky’s throat. So that  _ was _ what Steve wanted to play at when he addressed that letter. He could help with that. “You want Daddy Buckworthington to make it all better, babydoll? To take care of you? I can do that, yeah. I showed you off,” Bucky playfully nodded toward the village outside, as though they had just come from some high society soiree instead of the goat-feed trough, “and now you’re all mine.” Bucky grabbed Steve by the back of the neck and kissed him. Kissed him real hard.  _ Mission accomplished _ , he thought to himself, remembering his dream.  _ Looks like there’s plenty of follow-up to do, though. _

“Yes, thank you Daddy,” Steve panted, high pitched and starting to sound desperate. 

“Let’s go back to the bed, sweet boy, and I’ll take real good care of you.” Bucky led Steve by the hand to the bed mat where Steve obediently sank to his knees without even being asked. The glimmer in his cobalt blue eyes as he looked up reverently at Bucky was enough to signal that the next few days were definitely going to make up for all the time Steve had been gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Baby Goats in Sweaters!](https://www.boredpanda.com/baby-goats-knit-sweaters-sunflower-farm/) Running around and being adorable! 
> 
> [Darning balls/darners for reference](http://www.homethingspast.com/darning-eggs-mushrooms/)\--many shapes reminding me of sex toys, so I had to use my idea in a way. If you dirty minds want to write the smut, gift me. *evil grin*
> 
> Hope y'all had fun, kudos and comments are my bread-n-butter!
> 
> xo,  
> Dottie


End file.
